


Well, I'm still here like a cheap threat

by Creepikat



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Glenn is a lonely mess, M/M, Miklan is not as bad as in canon but still an asshole, Rough Sex, lost and damaged people coping with each other in questionable ways basically, not quite hate sex but not loving and affectionate either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:33:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25390927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creepikat/pseuds/Creepikat
Summary: He left them alone in a crumbling home when he was the reason it was crumbling down in the first place. When these thoughts haunts him at night, keeping sleep away, the memory of Miklan fails to make him feel better like it used to.It's only life's twisted sense of humour that the man comes back to haunt him in reality too.
Relationships: Glenn Fraldarius/Miklan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	Well, I'm still here like a cheap threat

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to try my hand at a modern AU with Miklenn where both of them live long enough and far away enough from their families to change and see the other under a new angle. I love to explore Glenn as a fallen golden son. Miklan is not as bad as in canon but still pretty shitty. Just wanted to point that exploring the reasons behind a character's behavior or showing how they changed doesn't erase what they did and is in no way an attempt to retcon them.   
> Might write more about this AU

The day Miklan Gautier packed his bags and threw them into his brand new Jeep, courtesy of his father's credit card he had once more stolen probably, Glenn Fraldarius was judging him from across the street. Miklan was easy to judge, he was a reckless asshole prone to violent outburst and clearly set on ruining his family's life. Glenn had spent his whole life, seventeen years to be precise, judging Miklan for being a bad son, a bad brother, a bad person overall. When anxiety and doubts ate away at him it was so easy to look at Miklan and immediately feel better about himself. The day he left, for whatever fucking reason, he'd never knew if it was his choice or if his parents' patience had reached their limits, Glenn had never felt that good about himself. He wasn't a fucking coward like Miklan, running away from responsibilities and people who should have been able to count on him had he been half less of a fuck-up.

Three years later it was his turn to run away from his life and his people, throwing whatever he could use in his car and driving far away from everything until he was sure it couldn't catch up to him. The irony of the parallel wasn't lost on him. He stopped on the west coast of Faerghus, as far as he could get from home without leaving the country. Even then it didn't feel far enough but it might have been because the money dropped on his bank account was a constant reminder that his dad could reach him even if it was in the flimsiest way possible. He had been tempted to throw away his credit card but a more pragmatic part of him reminded him the cost of finding a place, continuing physiotherapy and keeping up a decent lifestyle, all of this without having a job. As he used it the guilt of only leaving his dad with a short note ate at him, he couldn't even remember what he wrote, it had been hasty and messy. A small, bitter voice in the back of his head growled that it was a form of retribution for everything he had put him through during the past two years, everything he had handled wrong that had pushed Glenn to run away. It didn't chase the guilt away even if there was some truth to that.

It took Glenn two long years to rebuild a semblance of a life. Find an appartement on the first floor : check. A decent physiotherapist : check. Dealing with his new balance to slowly reacquaint himself with fencing and give some lessons as a job : check. He never talked to his dad or Felix, wouldn't know what to say, how to explain his choice without looking like even more of a fuck-up. He didn't want to face the consequences of his actions either, especially on Felix. Sweet baby Felix transformed into a bitter teenager, angry at everyone but especially at their father. He left them alone in a crumbling home when he was the reason it was crumbling down in the first place. When these thoughts haunts him at night, keeping sleep away, the memory of Miklan fails to make him feel better like it used to.

It's only life's twisted sense of humour that the man comes back to haunt him in reality too.

“Glenn fucking Fraldarius.”

Glenn glares up at the hulking form blocking his path on the way back from the bathroom. It's a bad leg day, he has to use his cane and doesn't intend on standing up longer than what is necessary. He just wants to make his way to the bar and have an average burger because he is too tired to cook tonight. And this guy isn't making it easy. But then his eyes lands on the mane of badly cut red hair and this face that hasn't changed except for the massive scar barring it. He freezes.

“...Miklan ?”

It's not a question. It's more like an astounded greeting. They both stare, an awkward silence falling upon them as they assess each other, tracking similarities and differences from the teenagers they were last time they saw each other. Miklan's features are just as rugged as he remembers but, as he takes a closer look, he doesn't see the deep-rooted anger that marred them back then. A taunting smirk play upon his lips but it doesn't seem as callous as before. The animosity he had felt constantly brewing inside of him once seems gone or at least better concealed. He has always been big but now he stands a mountain, especially next to Glenn's smaller than average frame. Still has a shitty sense of fashion though, might have gotten worse even what with the leather vest covered in patches, that does nothing to hide his hulking muscles, or the tacky jewelry shining around his fingers.

“That's new.” Miklan pulls him out of his observation and gives a jerky nod toward his cane.

Glenn raises a brow and immediately bites back by pointing at Miklan's scar.

“That too.”

It's instinctual. Strike the wrong chord and that's how he responds : hitting twice as hard on a possibly even more sensitive place. Letting the other knows he's not one to mess with. It was a matter of survival, really, when you were smaller than most and had been so precocious, so burdened with responsibilities and expectations, that you'd hanged out with people older than you since middle school.

Miklan merely snorts. Glenn can't help but feel puzzled. Once upon a time he would have taken this as an opportunity to take all the anger that practically oozed from his pores out on someone. Especially with Glenn, he'd always liked the fact that he could give as good as he got, with words or with fists. Reveled in the attention he gave him even if it was only to fight. It was twisted but then Glenn also took some kind of disturbing satisfaction from these showdowns where he could step out of his perfect role and act like a dick while feeling completely justified about it.

“It was already ugly anyway.” Miklan vaguely gestures at his own face, smirk still on, seemingly unbothered.

Glenn doesn't know how to respond to that. Because yeah Miklan's face is definitely not what you would call beautiful or handsome, especially with the air of perpetual anger he sported when they were younger. But if he's being honest with himself he had been attracted to those harsh features, had found some kind of odd charm in it. The hate he nurtured for Miklan always prevented him to act on it but in his teenage fantasies he had wondered how they would feel under his fingers, under his lips...

He chases the thought away. It's not the place nor the time to remember how he had once wanted to smash anything other than his fist into Miklan's face. Actually he's not sure why he's wasting his time talking to him. They recognized each other, awkwardly greeted, what's more to say ? He has to admit a small part of him is unsettled by this meeting, by the probability he would run in Miklan again and here of all places, as well as a little bit curious about what he's doing here exactly and, more importantly, how is he not in jail or dead in a ditch already. But another part of him, way stronger, is really tired and tells him it's not worth wasting his time and energy over. What good ever came from Miklan after all ?

So he just pushes past the brick wall that is this man and heads for the bar. From the corner of his eye he sees Miklan following suit and he frowns.

“You gonna follow me around now ?” He snaps.

Miklan snorts, he doesn't sound impressed by the “get lost” vibes Glenn is throwing his way. Instead he takes a few more steps and, again, plants himself in front of him.

“Fraldarius' golden boy is all alone in a lowly dinner, a whole country away from his domain and walking with a fucking cane. You bet I'm gonna follow you. I have questions.”

His smirk is all amused defiance and Glenn feels like he's running away from a challenge if he refuses to engage. He hates that.

The curious part of his brain is starting to lock the tired one inside a mind closet, muffling its screams of reasonnable protests. Behind Miklan he sees people throwing them worried glances and wonders if they look like two people ready to get into a fight. He sighs. He knows how to handle Miklan and doesn't want to pull other people into this, there's no need to make even more of a scene and risk being thrown out. He just wants to eat his fucking burger and then go home, he can do that while entertaining this asshole for half an hour. He thinks.

“Fine. Move.”

Pushing Miklan once more, he finally makes his way to the bar. There's a few free stools, Glenn settles on a row of three. Miklan might need two of those to fit his giant ass after all. Ugh, why does he bother thinking about that anyway ? The asshole can watch him eat standing up for all he cares... He orders quickly, something simple, a safe choice, he has never come to this bar before and he doesn't know if they make their food really spicy, Glenn can handle very little of that. Miklan asks for chicken wings that looks and smells like it could send him to the ER. And then he starts eating them while staring at Glenn. He tries to act like he doesn't care but it's hard, unnerving. Glenn has never been very patient and his curiosity has been poked by Miklan's intent to “catch up”. It's weird, as long as he can recall he never had any casual conversation with Miklan. All their interactions had been forced by either social obligations or by Miklan being a dick to Sylvain and, consequently, upsetting Felix, something Glenn never let go unpunished. There was a time, before Sylvain had been born, where they had played together but it was so far away that blurred images and vague feelings were the only things left of it in Glenn's mind. What he remembers clearly on the other hand is the tension rising instantly the moment they found themselves in the same room, the glares, the absence of any form of cordiality or even neutrality. They were always on their guard, making their distate known, ready to jump at each other's throath. An hostility not only fueled by Miklan's bullying but also by their diametrically opposed status of golden boy and wasted son that almost naturally pitted them against each other (and provoked both disgust and envy at the same time although Glenn never admitted to the second, because, really, how could he prefer Miklan's freedom to be a damn hurricane to the honour and joy of being the perfect son ?).

So yeah, Miklan wanting to ask questions, like they're the kind of people who can just... casually interact, all the while calmly staring at him is mind-puzzling and unnerving.

He attempts to sound nonchalant as he finishes a bite of his burger and restart the conversation.

“Thought you had questions.”

Miklan stares some more but eventually open his mouth.

“Was busy wondering why you seemed even tinier than last time I saw you. Must be the clothes.” He gestures at Glenn's, admittedly oversized, hoodie. “They're not tailored anymore are they ? You know they have decent stuff in kid's sections sometimes, might want to put your ego aside and-”

The cane strike his shin in one quick move, getting a muffled “fuck” out of him.

“Still an asshole I see.” Glenn glares, more blasé than truly pissed off, he's gotten used to shit like this about his height, it's nothing new, especially from Miklan.

“You're one to talk, you little shit.”

The man massages his leg with a pained wince which makes Glenn smirks in self-satisfaction. Losing some motricity doesn't mean he's lost his deadly aim and it's a real pleasure proving it to Miklan. It's also oddly pleasant to be called a little shit. Too much people sees the cane and acts as though he's a poor fragile thing that needs coddling. Bad ol Miklan doesn't seem to care about that, cursing Glenn just as before. Well... a few years back he would have probably tried to hit Glenn too but he feels that the change has nothing to do with his leg. Old Miklan would have punched with no hesitation, cane or not. From what he gathered until now it's more due to a general improvement in his emotions management that Glenn hasn't ended up with a bloody nose yet. Once Miklan is done whining like a big baby – he didn't hit THAT hard, seriously – he throws himself back into the conversation, apparently determined to get his answers. Glenn holds back a sigh, he's pretty sure he knows what's coming.

“So. What's the story ? Lost one of your fancy sword competition and got your ego wounded as well as your leg ? Went into self-exile to repent from the dishonour this failure brought to your family's name like the fucking knight you always fancied yourself to be ?”

Yeah. Classic Miklan, taunting him and hitting on all the right sore spots. People always took a quick look and swiftly categorized him as a brainless oaf, completely missing how perceptive he could be, especially when it came to stuff he could use against you. And as much as Miklan had hated those condescending assumptions, he had also cleverly taken advantage of them more than once. Fortunately Glenn knows just the thing to wipe his smug smirk off of his face : carelessly throwing the truth at him. Well, it won't wipe anything off at all if Miklan is still the pinnacle of assholery and just hides it well in order to get answers. But then, at least, Glenn will know where to stand and what to really expect from him. So : win-win.

Glenn takes a long sip of his beer and then drops the bomb.

“Got into a car accident with the Blaydds three... no, four years ago now.” He nonchalantly takes another bite, munches obnoxiously. “Dimitri made it out but not his parents. Got a crushed leg and brain damages out of it. Gained a whole collection of chronic pains. And it destroyed my athletic career as well as my chances to go back to college.”

Hard to finish Law school and swallow down its shit ton of content when your memory is half-fried and you have the attention span of a sugar-high toddler.

“So, that's that.”

He shrugs, as if it's not that big of a deal anymore. It is but he can't possibly let Miklan know that. Throwing facts at him is one thing, his raw emotions about said facts another. It's a lever he won't give him access to. The goal is to throw Miklan off balance here, not to make himself vulnerable by having a little heart to heart about feelings and traumas and shit. Glenn finally turns around to check how the guy is faring.

_Oh._

To see Miklan Gautier at a loss for words is as priceless as he remembers. Glenn stares, raising an expectant eyebrow, all too pleased with himself for a second.

“Shit.” Miklan eventually says.

He seems to seek his words, not sheepish but clearly uncomfortable. This is an unknown sight and it takes Glenn by surprise. He doesn't know if he likes it or not. After a few seconds of silence, uneasiness and uncertainty growing with each passing one, he decides that he doesn't. Making Miklan speechless is pleasing but if he starts acting all careful and pitying like everyone else it will infuriate him. Miklan was brash and careless, if he'd ever felt bad about something he'd never admitted to it and he certainly didn't try to make amends. If he does now that could mean that Glenn is even more pitiful than he thought, so pitiful that he had somehow inspired fucking Miklan to become like any other annoying, boring, sycophantic people throwing meaningless platitudes at him in order to look “decent”. The idea makes him nauseous.

“I you even think about apologizing I'll-” He starts, eyes narrowing in two suspicious slits.

Miklan rolls his eyes in a display of annoyment so familiar it immediately throw him back years earlier, effectively cutting him off.

“Yeah, yeah I know you'll poke me with your stick.”

He derisively snorts at the cane. Still able to taunt him then. Good. Glenn's guard lower a little. Not all the way though, never all the way especially not with Miklan.

“Wasn't planning to anyway. Why would I apologize ? I wasn't the one driving the fucking car, last I knew.”

Glenn eventually relaxes. They're on the same page then. Miklan seems a bit more decent than last time he saw him but he hasn't become a total phony yet. Still enough of an asshole to be tolerable. As weird as it might sound for anyone else, it makes sense for Glenn. It feels good, still being in charted territory even after he learnt about the accident. He's tired of having to relearn how to interact with everyone and their feelings about this. He's tired of being treated like he's a totally different person, only defined by the accident.

“Doesn't explain why you're here and not enjoying your life as a rich crippled boy in one of your father's estate though. Your family had a nice pile of cash to fall back on, you could comfortably live on it without working a day in your life. Unless Rodrigue Fraldarius is the same type of asshole as my father and would throw out a son he deems useless.”

Glenn's snort is tainted with bitterness.

“No, he's the kind of asshole who grieved me as if I had been buried with the Blaydds. Even though I was very much alive, standing beside him at the funeral. Guess a son who can't fulfill the perfect life he had planned out for him is as good as dead.”

There's a lump in his throath all of sudden and it's not because of the burger he's stuffing in his mouth in order to shut himself up. The last bit was way too close to sharing feelings instead of cold facts. He can feel sorrow and guilt welling up in his brain, in his guts, in his throath, ready to pours out of his mouth. He can't have that. He's had enough of eyes flashing with pity everytime they fall on him. And he's had enough of crying out all the resentment that as piled up these last years. Resentement that had long been brewing but remained neatly contained when the praises he received for performing his role perfectly somehow compensated the feeling that something wasn't quite right with the way he had to entertain, the scenery he had been placed in or the cadence he had been asked to dance to. Glenn doesn't want to think about how everything in his life changed and half of it turned out to be wasted time spent on things that had been another person's dreams. He wants to keep being an asshole to Miklan and have him keep being an asshole at him, just like old times when it at least _seemed_ like everything was going well.

Glenn swallows both his burger and rancor down and then covers his moment of weakness with his favorite tactic : divert the attention to the other, biting where it hurts, making them just as vulnerable as he feels if not more.

“And your father didn't just throw you out because of that.” He retorts, hoping Miklan hasn't realized his pause was a moment of vulnerability and not just him struggling to eat his burger. “Your criminal record and global shit-ass attitude kind of weighted in the scale.”

It seems to work because Miklan doesn't have the callous smirk of someone who has picked up your weak point nor the look that everyone in the “let's treat Glenn like he's a broken piece of fine china” parade gives him. Instead his eyes narrows and his lips twist in a very familiar display of anger that delights Glenn. Miklan doesn't go as far as throwing a punch, a testament to his growth he guess, but this face, this almost palpable ire he can sense from him now, he is intimately acquainted with it. It is so very Miklan, so weirdly soothing in its familiarity.

“Want me to take care of your other leg Fraldarius ?” Miklan smiles but there's no warmth or glee in it.

Glenn hasn't been this thrilled in a long time.

“You can try.” He answers with a smile of his own, all teeth.

Miklan scoffs but Glenn can see in his eyes and the way his smile slightly changed that he is just as entertained. It doesn't go further. Miklan still seems pissed off but he doesn't cross the line he would have stomped over years ago by truly giving a shot at destroying Glenn's left leg. Quick tempered as always but it would seem he has become better at smothering it, not giving the flames enough time to grow, consume him and burn everything around. Glenn has the feeling that if his hand was to tease the hearth right now it wouldn't be left unscathed. But Miklan is not a wildfire anymore and the danger is under a much tighter control apparently.

It feels surreal, the fact that they have changed enough to be capable of holding a conversation. Because as tense and full of barbed words as it is they are having one. An actual exchange that is not just an excuse to taunt until one snaps and land the first hit. If it was, they would have already been kicked out of the bar by now, Glenn knows it, he knows them. And there's a paradox between the intimate familiarity he feels with Miklan, with every one of his expression and reaction, and the realization that they're decidedly not the same if they can interact without falling back on the exact same pattern they meticulously followed before. For the first time he can get close enough to play with the fire, he doesn't have to immediately put it out from fear of the damages it could cause. It intrigues him, thrills him even.

Miklan has gone back to his disgusting wings while still eyeing him and there's a gleam there, an undercurrent of something else than ire that grasps at Glenn's guts. He realizes, with a bit of shock and a great rush of adrenaline, that it might be lust. Maybe it's the beer, maybe it's the tiredness, maybe it's the fucking loneliness he tries to ignore, maybe it's the fact that he has been craving for sex but hasn't found anyone who would not make a big deal out of it, out of him, maybe it's the rousing novelty of their interaction. But, unexpectingly, he feels himself starting to leer and consider. It shouldn't be that surprising, in retrospect, after all Glenn had wondered how it would feel to press against Miklan before. However there had never been a tangible possiblity of it coming true, not back then, not when he couldn't allow himself to lower his guard and standards even for a quick, angry and meaningless fuck. But now...

_Don't get ahead of yourself Fraldarius, you only talked to the asshole for, like, ten minutes, still got time to be disappointed._

Still, when Miklan chews into another chicken wing and sucks the grease off of his thumb, Glenn stares and tenses. Maybe poking at the fire a bit more will help him make up his mind.

“How is that going for you actually ? Cut off, with a criminal record ?”

He tries to keep the question casual, merely a jab tainted with true curiosity. Glenn is indeed curious about that, now that he think of it. Really, he would have thought Miklan in jail by now, not casually hanging in a bar, looking healthy enough and less volatile than a few years ago even. He'd have thought his banishment from the Gautier family would have signed some kind of misery sentence. But, well, Glenn is not blind to what kind of patriarch lead this family, being free from him might have led to a more flourishing life than continuing to _benefit_ from his _favours_ , in some ways, despite the loss of social or financial support. A bank account filled with monthly allowances nags at Glenn's mind, he pushes it back, not liking how it makes him feel less ressourceful and brave than Miklan, more fucked-up. It's not like he even asked for it too, it was his father choice, maybe he hopes it will make Glenn feel bad and come back. Anyway. He focuses back on Miklan.

“Better than you'd think. Got my shit together. Got my men.”

His thick (so fucking thick) thumb points at a group of men in the back of the bar, gathered around a pool table. They all wear leather jackets and Glenn realizes the pattern reflects the one adorning Miklan's vest. He can't bother to muffle his astonished snort.

“You have a gang ?!”

“Biker club.” Miklan corrects. “Well that's on the side. For the main part we take odd jobs, heavy lifting, repairs, security, that kind of shit.”

Glenn can't help it, he chortles. As a teen Miklan had a small crowd of self-named _bad boys_ following him. They smoked behind the gym and stole shit from people's lockers, even teachers room sometimes. Glenn had actually entertained the possibility of him joining some kind of criminal organization after he'd left but he'd thought he would have heard about it sooner if that was the case. Miklan might be clever but he was also a brash asshole who liked to brag about his deeds so everyone could rub them in his father's face. It would have been the talk of the neighborhood for weeks.

He should have thought about the biker club. It was so cliché, so in-your-face, so fucking Miklan.

It might be petty as fuck but it makes Glenn feel better about his own outcome. Way less fucked-up than Miklan on the career plan. At least by their social class standards.

“Your dad would be so proud of where his financial investement in your education has gone...” Glenn mocks once his fit of laughter has died down.

Miklan groans something that suspiciously sounds like “bitch” but doesn't sound truly pissed off. On the contrary there's a lazy smirk playing on his lips. He seems very satisfied with his reaction. Maybe Glenn shouldn't have been that open with his awe. But, as he catches Miklan leering at him some more, he can't find it in himself to regret it.

“How do you think this business is going so well uh ? I'm not just muscles. Guess I have one thing to thank him for after all.” There's no gratitude in his voice, just sarcasm.

As he said, Glenn knows Miklan is more intelligent than people assumes and he knows that the kind of education they got, manufactured to enter the same business as their parents, gave them the tools to be efficient leaders. But he's not about to reassure him about it, they might be able to have a conversation but it doesn't mean he has to play nice. They're not there yet, they surely never will be. Glenn doesn't want to befriend the fire, he wants to play with it.

“Yeah, not just muscles. Maybe 90% only. The 10% left is a bad mullet. Is there such a thing as a good mullet I wonder...”

Miklan tries to kick his leg. Glenn strikes back. He hasn't had this much fun in a long time. Hasn't had someone willing to bite back and push him around, not someone who knew him from before at least. It sounds fucking sad but he can't quite care.

“As if you don't love it.”

Miklan's clearly talking about his muscles and not the mullet, seeing as how he makes them roll while leaning back against the counter. Not subtle. Glenn is not complaining though.

“Also, I'll take it over that cane any day. Where did you get it ? A nursing home ? Couldn't have gotten something from this century with all your rich boy money ?”

They spend ten more minutes like that, taunting, testing limits, appraising, catching glances carrying a heat that makes Glenn entertain the idea of not getting back home immediately. It still feels like a dream, the kind where everything is so familiar you think yourself awake at first yet eery little details piles up and makes the whole illusion crumble little by little. The gnawing uneasiness often present in those kind of dreams is absent here though. The details that don't quite fit what he knows of Miklan or would expect of him arouse some suspicion but above all his interest. And, once again, it is so, so, so good to find something from his past that didn't change enough to make him feel like shit, like he's stuck in this wrong timeline where Glenn Fraldarius is not doing what he was supposed to so he might be as good as dead. Not that people said that to his face but looks and avoidance spoke for themselves. So, when Miklan talks to him like he's here, like he's still Glenn in spite of it all, like he's still expecting things from him, it just warms him all over and makes him want MORE. He turns off the scandalised voices telling him Miklan was an asshole, a major fuck-up, that his own fall from grace doesn't mean he has to step that low. These fucking voices never did him any good, only caged him in debilitating, painful, miserable expectations all his fucking life, way before the accident even. Right now he wants to feel good. So he tries to mute them and listens instead to the way his guts twist and ignite as Miklan leers.

“Well, this was delightful and fucking weird but I have to go now.” He says as he pushes back his empty plate and slides change across the counter.

He pauses, assessing Miklan, hoping fucking hard he hasn't misread anything.

“Unless you're still intent on handing my ass to me. Or was it all for show ?”

The words are a challenge but his tone makes it pretty clear that he's not calling for a fight in the most litteral sense of the term. Miklan stills and Glenn sees how every part of his being tense with apprehension, at attention. His eyes darkens, wells of hunger.

“You sure about what you're asking for Fraldarius ?”

Glenn just lift his chin, smirking, before making his way to the door. Whenever they taunted each other Glenn did this precise gesture, posturing, defying, showing he could deal with whatever Miklan threw his way and return it tenfold. And just like before Miklan hooks, sinks and lines. Glenn doesn't even have to turn back to know, it's a matter of seconds before Miklan's hand palms the low of his back, pushing him a bit faster toward the exit. The touch shouldn't be that good, as far as he remembers physical contact between them had rarely been anything other than painful wrestling. But he must have been more starved than he thought because a shivers travels down his spine and he's taken aback by the intensity of it.

When they reach Miklan's car a nervous laugh nearly escape his throath. It's the same fucking Jeep he left in, the Jeep that Glenn had so strongly associated with being a miserable fuck-up years ago and here he is, about to hops in. It should make him feel terrible, mediocre. It doesn't. It feels like a last fuck you to his former life and it feels kinda great.

“No bike ?” He says because he just can't not ask.

“Not tonight. Why ? Wanted me to bend you over it and fuck you in the open ?”

Another shiver. A vivid image flash through his mind and Glenn can't deny the appeal. He won't admit it out loud because Miklan would be way too pleased with himself but given the smug smirk on his face something must have given him away. Fuck.

“You're way less suave than you think.” He spits.

“Yeah ? Seems to work just fine though.”

It does. But if Miklan think he's the one in charge here and can fuck him into submission or some shit he is severely mistaken.

The instant Miklan opens the door Glenn pushes him in and pounces. Maybe a ride home was in his plans but Glenn doesn't care. He wants this now and here. He barely has time to close the door and throw his cane aside before Miklan drags him up on his lap. He kisses rough and demanding, just like Glenn imagined. He tastes like meat and spices and another mistake he would have never made back when his life was perfectly arranged. It's fucking divine.

The position, on the other hand, is a fucking nightmare. Even with the seat pushed all the way back and slightly reclined there's little space for movements. Glenn curses as he tries to get out of his pants and gives Miklan a deadly glare when the lazy bastard only has to open up his jeans and slide them down an inch or two to be free. This one merely smirk back, calmly palming himself through his boxers while watching Glenn struggle.

“Impatient are we ? Who would have thought Glenn Fraldarius would be the kind of slut dying to be fucked in a parking lot.”

Given the appraising look Miklan's giving him it's more likely to be crass dirty talk than real judgment but Glenn glares all the same. There's a scathing retort on the tip of his tongue but it's lost in the haze of lust submerging him as he takes in the sheer size of Miklan's cock. Fuck. Just like the rest of him it is outrageously massive. Glenn's mouth waters. He's always liked them big and thick, boys or cocks. Getting wrecked by a man at least twice his size and showing him he could take him all the way always made him feel powerful. Those guys often thought being the one doing the fucking put them in charge, on top, only to realize Glenn had them exactly where he wanted, how he wanted. They took one look at him and thought he was a pretty harmless thing to pound into the mattress as they saw fit when the truth was that he was the one calling the shots, granting them permission to fulfill his needs. Sometimes guys got too confident, tried something that didn't quite please him, and he'd relish the look of utter shock painting their face as he easily overpowered them, putting them back into place, reminding them they were turning him into a moaning mess just because he allowed them to. He loved to release apparent control and dominance while knowing he could gain the upper hand at any time. And sometimes they loved it just as much. Memories of Holst Goneril, friend and casual fling from his one year at Garreg March, coming undone as Glenn pressed an elbow to his throath crosses his mind and he shudders.

Miklan is still smirking at him, stroking his behemoth of a cock with affected nonchalance yet the gleam in his eyes betrays excitement. Does he know what he got himself into ? He must, he knows Glenn, knows not to underestimate him. The idea of Miklan being just as thrilled while perfectly knowing what's about to hit him makes an unprecedented hunger growl in his core. It makes him forget everything else, his fucked up leg, the scars he reveals as his pants slide down, the way he must look drowned in his oversized ugly sweater. Because the way Miklan looks at him, the way he takes in all of him and growls in barely contained lust, the way he tenses in anticipation while waiting for him to make a move, it makes him feel just as powerful as he did years ago. It's like oil thrown at fire and he lets its blaze consume him.

Glenn slides onto his lap again, completely naked from the waist down, skin rubbing against rough jeans. His cock presses againt Miklan's as this one's hands slide to cup his ass and bring him closer. Large, warm, calloused hands easily able to grab a handful of each cheek. He nearly whines. Eyes meet and he can see Miklan holding his breath as his own hand slides down, down, down until it curls around his cock and gives a long stroke that gets him rumbling and shivering under him. His whole body seems to shake and with it so does Glenn's.

“Fuck me Gautier.”

Miklan blinks. His eyes turn voracious.

“Gladly.”

Teeth digs into his lip almost painfully, making him gasp, creating an opportunity to open his mouth and devour its inside. Glenn let it happens, one hand losing itself into Miklan's mane as the other still holds his cock. Fuck he wants this cock. Anywhere really. He would stroke it till Miklan comes only from that, all over his fingers that he would lick clean in front of him until it made him hard again. Would love to feel its weight on his tongue, feel it stretch his lips, Miklan holding him there until he chokes on it. Maybe later, if there's ever a later. For now where he wants it most is nestled in his ass, stuffing him fuller than he'd ever been in his life, filling him till the stretch, the burn and the pleasure of it are the only things he can feel anymore. One hand leaves his ass and he whimpers a protest into Miklan's mouth. A finger presses into the cleft of it then slides down until it tease his rim, testing its resistance. It feels so thick, and yet it's still way smaller than his cock. He can't remember why he was complaining all of sudden.

Miklan breaks off the kiss to take a look at something behind him. A pop is heard. The large hand still holding his ass pulls, parting his cheeks a little, and then something cold and slimy is unceremoniously being poured between them. Glenn would maybe marvel at Miklan's impressive aim was he not busy hissing at the unexpected, and very unwelcome, sensation. His glare doesn't deter Miklan at all, his smug smirk growing even wider when Glenn's cursing gets lost into a moan as fingers massage lube against his hole and finally breach. It makes his whole body twitch in response. His hand tighten around Miklan's cock, maybe a bit too tight because his groan is this side of painful. At least the fucker isn't smirking anymore. Instead teeth latch vengefully at his neck, attacking anything at reach. The wrestling is very familiar even though the goal is not just to bruise and hurt this time. Partially but not only.

It's everything he has imagined during those nights his brain fed him with fantasies of fight turning into vicious kisses and hungry hands mapping every part of his body, barely contained animosity travelling through every electrifying touch, the dam built between Glenn and his shameful desire finally breaking under its strength. Except now he has nothing to hide, nothing to repress in order to keep up appearances, he can let it submerge him whole without a care. Miklan is now working two fingers inside of him, another slowly joining, and Glenn can only throw his head back and let out a long groan full of both pleasure and frustration. He wants more, more, more. He wants Miklan to fill him, stuff him full till he cries out, submerge him.

His hands grips at Miklan's shoulders now, nails digging into his back as the sensations of teeth and fingers and their cocks rubbing together overwhelms him a little. Even though, it's still not enough. His fingers are too slow, too cautious, nothing like the abrasive and careless touch he expected, he craves really. A panicked thought flash through his brain. Is he going fucking soft on him ? Is he suddenly being overly conscious of Glenn's state and trying to coddle him ? Is that why he's not already pounding into Glenn like the selfish, brutish asshole he's supposed to be ? The idea makes his skin itch with anger. Memories of past lovers, lovers he has taken after the accident, crawls in his brain and reignite anxieties he thought he could escape here. He breathes. Exhales. Regains some control. Then pushes Miklan away and stares him down.

“For fuck sake Miklan I can take it ! You're not gonna snap me in half !”

After an instant of confusion Miklan snorts in disbelief. The look he shoots him is unimpressed.

“Well my cock is twice thicker than your tiny shit ass so excuse me for having my doubts. You think I want your hole to shrink my dick down because it's too fucking tight Fraldarius ?”

And he slaps his hip, his bad hip, without a care. Glenn gasps in pain and stares at him for a second. And then breaks into snickers. It's not even funny, it's pretty lame actually, but right now he can't stop laughing. It's like something broke, some tension born from the treatment of too careful or downright uneasy lovers he's had for the past two years, all reduced to dust by Miklan in a matter of seconds. How could he had even thought he would be anything else than careless, crass even, about this whole affair. Not enough of an asshole to do real damages but clearly not caring about much else than his own pleasure. Not even with Glenn, probably, especially because it's Glenn. He hasn't felt this comfortable in a long time.

When he finally manages to stop laughing Miklan is staring, one questionning and vaguely impatient eyebrow raised at him. Glenn doesn't share his thoughts, keep them close to his heart and chases them away with a long kiss, all teeth and tongue. When he pulls back he merely smirk at Miklan, confidence regained.

“You're not that impressive.” He taunts.

Miklan scoffs and presses his third finger in.

“You always liked to chew more than you could take.” He mocks back, asserting his accusation with a particularly rough thrust that makes a gasp escape Glenn's throath.

He bites back the following moan and retaliate by pulling at Miklan's hair. Which is apparently as painful as it is pleasurable for the guy. Interesting.

“Shut the fuck up unless you want me to bite your massive dick off.” Glenn smirks.

Miklan chuckles through the combined menace of Glenn's words and his grip on his hair.

“Never called it massive. Your words not mine.” He retorts, insufferably self-satisfied.

“Shut up.” Glenn spits, still smirking, before dragging him through another kiss, muffling a moan in it as he pushes himself down on Miklan's fingers. They both tremble in anticipation.

When Miklan finally deems him ready to take his “massive” dick – and yes it is massive but no need to be this cocky about it, what are you Miklan, fourteen ? - Glenn is this close to grunt out of despair. Miklan takes his sweet time to grab a condom and roll it down his length, smirking at him the whole time. The bastard knows what he's putting him through.

“Wouldn't have pegged you for the safe kind of guy...” Glenn snorts, his way of retaliating for the frustration.

Miklan is infuriatingly unfazed. And then, when Glenn hastily align himself with his cock, he grabs his hips and impose a pace. An excruciatingly slow pace. The head of his cock presses against his hole, teasing its rim, so slowly pushing past it. When it's finally in Glenn can't refrain a whimper of delight and his eyes flutter close as he loses himself in the sensation. It's already so thick, it stretches him so good, it's going to wreck him...

But then, as he waits for the rest of it to slide into him, nothing happens. And when Glenn opens up his eyes, positively furious now, he meets Miklan eyes and realizes it's not about safety. Of course it's not, it's Miklan after all. He hasn't stopped out of fear for his comfort, he has stopped because he knows it's torture to him. The gleam in his eyes and the gloating curve of his smirk as he keep Glenn from sinking down onto his cock is very much due to some kind of power rush he gets as he sees him squirming in his grip, desperate to be fucked. It is HIS way to retaliates. And, as much as he loathes admitting it, even to himself, Glenn loves it. Loves the wrestling for dominance and the brutality of it all.

“Why shouldn't I take cautions ? Don't know where you've been or how many guys have fucked you in a parking lot you little slut.” Miklan retorts casually, as if he's not just as eager to pound into him.

Glenn knows he is, he sees it in the way the dark has devored his eyes, the way his chest heaves with poorly hidden excitment, the way his hips stutter as Glenn clenches around him, the words hitting him with a strength he hadn't expected. He's no stranger to dirty talk, not even the degrading kind, but coming from Miklan it's an entirely new level of intensity. It's a thrilling reminder of how far he has strayed from his perfectly miserable path as the man he had once held the deepest disdain for is now fucking him in his car and he loves it. How shameful, how deviant, how fucking liberating. Miklan notices. Of course he does.

“You like that uh ? Being called a slut ?”. He pushes himself up and his lips travels up his neck all the way to his ear where he growls his next words. “Being reminded that you might act all prim and proper but deep down you're just a little cockslut begging for a nice fat one to fill you up ? I always knew you were like that. You loved to pretend you were too good for that but I know you were dying to spread your legs for me even back then.”

And fuck, fuck, fuck he is right. He is fucking right. Fuck.

Glenn moans and Miklan laughs deeply. Oooooh this fucking asshole. He thinks he has the upper hand. What an idiot. He was supposed to know better. In an instant he grabs both his wrist and twist just so Miklan yelps in pain and finds himself placated back against the reclined seat, hands up on either side of his head. All his superb vanishes. Now it is Glenn who's smirking as he looms over him. His turn to play.

“How many years have you dreamed of telling me that ? How many years have you touched yourself wishing it was me around you, finally deigning to give you the attention you crave so much ?”

As he speaks he leans closer and closer, words almost pouring directly into Miklan's mouth. His eyes darken impossibly. Oh. Was that was he was looking for ? Make him fight for it ? Wrestle him back into submission ? He takes in the lust in his eyes, the satisfaction in his smile, the way his cock pulse as Glenn tighten his grip on his wrists. It's exactly what it is. He could throw him off or try at least. He just doesn't want to. Miklan talks big and puts him down but in truth he's just as much of a desperate slut right now. Glenn feels his own smirk widen.

“Too many years right ? Poor Miklan never getting what he wants. For once that you're in luck you shouldn't waste it...”

And now it's his turn to torture as he pushes down oh so slowly and Miklan is the one who has to suffer his pace, growling under him like a beast being tamed. Glenn would lie if he said it wasn't incredibly frustrating for him as well. Miklan's cock is piercing through him, stretching him impossibly and yet not enough to fulfill his needs. The burning in his groin and ass is spreading in a less pleasant way to his leg that starts to throb with pain due to the prolonged strain he's putting on it as he hold his position. However the feeling of having Miklan under him, submitting, at his mercy, the rush of raw power it gives him, widely compensates for it.

“You fucking-” Miklan groans but the rest gets lost in their echoing moans as Glenn finally let himself sink all the way down.

The fullness, the burn, the pleasure and relief of it overwhelms him for a few seconds and when he comes back to his senses Miklan is looking at him with an utter look of despair. He grins as he captures his lips into a searing kiss, savoring the way Miklan furiously chases after his lips, tries to bite at it. Wildfire trying to consume.

“You love it. You slut.” He purrs.

And then he raises his hips and slams back down.

It might not have been the best idea given the fact he's not fully adjusted to the ridiculous girth of Miklan's cock yet. In fact the first thrust is more pain than pleasure. But Glenn isn't one to back off. Especially not with Miklan, never with Miklan. So he persist and set himself into a frenetic pace, shifting, bending until it hits closer to that place and the uncomfortable scorch morph into a rousing burn. It's not long before it slams exactly into that perfect spot and when it does Glenn just let himself moan openly, obscenely, not caring about anything except the blazing sensation that shoots through his spine and shakes him to the core.

“Fuck, Fraldarius...” Miklan growls and he looks in awe as Glenn split himself open on top of him. “So fucking tight but you still take me all the way you greedy little slut... Always wanted to know what it would be like to have you ride me like a bitch in heat... Fuck you're beautiful.”

And Glenn hates the way it makes him feel so good and warm but it does. As pitiful as it sounds he melts a little against Miklan. Miklan who called him a slut, Miklan who was a complete asshole to everyone including him, Miklan who represented everything he thought himself above of. But also Miklan who stares at him like he's a dream come true, like he's grateful for what Glenn is granting him, like he can't believe his luck almost. Miklan who makes him feel more desirable and powerful and like himself than he has felt in a long time.

Feelings are not the only thing that weakens he realizes as Miklan's finally slip out of his grasp and slowly open his sweater, meeting no resistance. There's only a thin tank top underneath, worn and loose, and it does nothing to conceal the warmth radiating from Miklan's palms as he paws at him. Glenn closes his eyes and lose himself in the feeling of these large hands, molesting his chest, circling his waist, falling to his ass, easily cupping it whole all while he still slide up and down his cock. Everything about Miklan is large enough to make him feel like a tiny doll, putty and toy in his grasp. It should be overbearing and unnerving but it doesn't, especially when Miklan seems to know exactly how he wants to be played with.

But, of course, because nothing can go perfectly nowadays, it's this moment his fucking leg decides to remind him it's a bad day for it and he's pushing it well beyond its limits. The pleasure had somehow tampered down the ache until now but it's not enough to cover the sudden stab of pain that shot through it. He tries to shake himself out of it, grunt through his teeth and ignores it, but, as he pushes himself up again, he realizes it's giving up under his weight and snarls in frustration. Miklan notices something's wrong, follows his pained gaze and realization seems to dawn on him. Looking up to him he frowns but Glenn glares back, forbiding him to stop or take pity. This was too good, it can't stop like this, because of this. He doesn't care if his stupid leg is betraying him, he doesn't care if it hurts, he still wants to go through with this, still wants to drown pain, all kind of pain, with the ectasy of fucking himself silly on this cock. Miklan does neither. He just grips his hips, so tight Glenn is sure dots of blue will adorn them tomorrow, lift him up and slam him back down. Glenn throws back his head on a silent cry and gladly let him do.

It's not tender, it's not careful, it's messy and feral and overwhelmingly good. It's the furious rutting of two teenagers who could never unleash their hateful lust and are making up for lost time now that they're adults and experimented and give zero fuck about anything else. It's everything he ever wanted. He doesn't even care about surrendering control when Miklan slams him onto his cock so fast and hard it leaves him dizzy with pleasured shock. His hands lose themselves into his hair, tightening around it with every shot of pleasure.

“Harder ! Fuck, Miklan, harder !” It's a supplication and an order all at once and Miklan might be the one pushing him up and down his cock but the pull of Glenn's hands in his mane play its part in the pace he sets, a warning not to disappoint.

Miklan growls like a beast in rut and his teeth against Glenn's neck, digging and marking him, feels just as predatory. The words he groans into the crook of his neck are a mess of filth and praises, of “so fucking pretty” and “such a good little slut” and Glenn happily takes it all because yes he is a little slut who gets off on getting wrecked by the biggest cock he'd ever had. He feels his own cock jump and leak, ready to burst even untouched as he imagine the way his hole will gape after this, red and sore and utterly wrecked for anyone else. He almost wishes Miklan had taken him raw, bets he could fill him up until he's full and leaking and can't take it anymore but Miklan would go on anyway and-

His orgasm hits so fast he can barely understand what's happening by the time he's writhing against Miklan, sobbing moans wrenched from his throat and nails digging into his scalp as he comes so hard his vision goes black. For goddess knows how long he can't see or move, just feel himself getting fucked through his orgasm, Miklan not stopping at all, using him like a pretty cocksleeve as he goes limp in his grasp. When he comes, cock swelling impossibly inside of Glenn, he's exhausted and oversensitive and yet still weakly shudder in response, trying to clench around Miklan, milk him till he's finished and mellowed and muffling whimpers of pleasure in his neck. Just as wrecked as Glenn.

The thudding of his heart is so strong it pounds in his head as he slowly comes down from his high. Pressed against Miklan, he can feel his beating just as furiously, almost in unison. Along with their ragged breaths it's the only thing breaking the silence inside the vehicle. Glenn is oddly at peace. Something that should be quite normal given the situation yet feels almost foreign with how far away the last time he was that content seems.

“Fuck. That was good.” Miklan rumbles under him.

Glenn has half a mind to stay here, head resting on his heaving chest, lulled by his beating heart and the warmth of his skin. He'd always liked a nice nap after a good meal.

But he can't. Because as nice as it's been this is Miklan. Miklan is good for a rough, sating fuck, not for post-coital cuddles. No matter how much he might have changed. At least that's what Glenn tells himself, ignoring how Miklan's thumb is tracing little circles on the small of his back.

“Yeah...” He sighs before pushing himself away, ignoring the small twinge of regret as he does.

Miklan's arms grasp at him like they might want to bring him back against his chest and prove him wrong. But Glenn will never be sure of that, he won't yield and stay to find out. That's not what this thing was about and he hasn't planned on letting it become something else.

They both groan as he shift, sensitive and sore. Miklan's cock still fills him quite nicely even though it's softening and he gives himself a minute to take in the feeling. So satisfying...

He blinks his eyes open and stills as he realize Miklan is staring at him, strangely silent and pensive. Glenn frowns, shift some more, doesn't know how to act, feels awfully exposed all of sudden. Well, being half-naked and still having a dick up your ass will do that but it's not just that. It's the complete weirdness and improbability of this situation that's catching up to him, the realization that now that they're fucked and sated there's an aftermath to deal with and their specific situation makes said aftermath even more delicate than a regular awkward hookup. Should he say something ? What do you say to the guy you spent most of your life despising after he just fucked your brains out in the passenger seat of his car ? Is he expecting something else and if yes how is Glenn supposed to know what and how to get out of it ?

Miklan's unusually serious expression twist and suddenly he's snorting.

“What ?” Glenn snaps, eyes narrowing into annoyed slits.

“Stop being so fucking awkward. We fucked, it was good, we both got what we wanted. That's it. I'm not gonna make a scene if you just leave and never call me back you know. ”

Good. They're on the same page then he guesses...

The asshole leans back with a mocking smirk, arms crossed behind his head, sprawling himself in all his glory for Glenn to see. For a second his eyes wander, enjoying the picture, the flexing muscles, mourning that he didn't take his chance to spend more time and attention on those. Now is a bit too late to ask him to take off his shirt in order to explore the plane of his chest, even though the idea is really tempting... _Fortunately_ Miklan keeps on being himself which promptly put an end to this stupid revery and spare him the embarassment of actually asking.

“Unless you're the one who's going to make a scene... Want me to make up for sullying your purity by taking you on a date Fraldarius ?”

Glenn merely rolls his eyes, secretly a bit amused but unwilling to give Miklan any more satisfaction for tonight.

“Right. My purity.” He thinks back on his one year of uni and the fuckton of guys he'd spread his legs for. What an hilarious notion really. “You're a fucking idiot you know that ?”

It only serves to make his smirk widen, like he sees through the insult and knows it worked. Asshole. Glenn retaliates by pulling on Miklan's shirt and wiping his dripping cock with it. The thing was already stained with cum anyway, some less, some more, he doesn't see the issue. Miklan on the other hand grimaces which makes it very satisfying.

“That's fucking disgusting Fraldarius.”

And the worse is that he seems dead serious.

“You worked your fingers into my ass but THAT is disgusting ?” Glenn lets out a disbelieving snort. This guy's standards make no sense.

He thinks he hears him grunting something about his ass but he just shakes his head and decides that's enough for tonight. They had their fun, verbally and physically, no point in making this thing go on forever. Tiredness is starting to plumet on him too and right now he just wants to crash into his bed, falling asleep still buzzing with the feeling of an exceptional fuck. Pushing himself up he feels Miklan's cock slipping out, leaving him gaping and empty in a way that sends a shiver up his spine. But pleasure is short-lived as he stretches his right leg and the consequence of putting it through so much strain on a bad day catches up to him. A blazing pain coming in spasms shots through it, making him crunches his eyes close and grits his teeth the time it takes to dull down to a bearable burn. Fuck, he kinda forgot about that.

“Fuck this...” He sighs when he can finally breathe again.

He opens his eyes and sees Miklan staring at him, at the leg he has grasped reflexively. A twinge of anxiety twist his stomach. Nope. Not this. Not now.

“Okay there ?” He has the gall to ask, all decent.

Glenn doesn't want decency and concern. He wants the familiar hostility watered down by years and changes but still present nonetheless. Miklan had nailed it until now. (Ah. Way too perfect choice of words.) Defiantly, Glenn puts his pants back on and slips into his shoes, glaring at Miklan, daring him to adress the pain he's doing his best to brush off.

“Don't worry over me. It doesn't suit you.” He retorts dryly.

It must sounds harsh, disdainful even. But Miklan shrugs.

“Eh. I wrecked your ass, I take responsabilities.”

Tension born from wariness dissolve enough to make him huff a laugh. Miklan finally puts his cock back into his pants as Glenn opens the door. He kicks the cane in his direction and this gesture, both mindful in its intention and careless in its execution, makes him feel weird. But not quite enough for his walls to come back up. It makes him stop. Wonder. Is this how this end ? A quick fuck in this Jeep and another chapter of his life is closed just like that ? The thought doesn't sit as well with him as he would have wished. He has no idea if that's the part of him desperate to go back to how things were that's making this whole thing more desirable than it should be but he finds himself imagining what it would be to do this again, to make it a thing, whatever it is. It might be a stupid idea. But frankly what is he risking, what is stopping him from trying ? He has no one left to impress, not even himself. And yes Miklan was a piece of shit and a part of him feels like he betrays something, some people, by indulging in him. But right now those people are not here and the only loyalty he owes is to actual Glenn who's too high on this thing to put _morals_ before his own selfish pleasure. The only thing that should matter is what he wants to do not what he should do really.

“You wish. I'd need a lot more to be properly wrecked.” He says before he can think too much and back up like a fucking coward.

For once Miklan responds with something else than nonchalance. Surprise flashes through his eyes before his lips twistes into something that's part teasing, part hopeful.

“Yeah ?”

Glenn licks his lips, sees how Miklan watches him do with hungry eyes, relishes in the feeling. He craves and yields, weak for something he hadn't suspected he would ever need that bad.

“Yeah.” He confirms, sealing the implied offer.

And then he turns around and leaves before he can regret this.


End file.
